


The Wolf Cries True

by MadiYasha



Series: Sickfic Prompts [2]
Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Anime)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, KantoContestShipping, Prompt Fill, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-26 07:14:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14995619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadiYasha/pseuds/MadiYasha
Summary: Harley lied like second nature, so much so that when Solidad would turn her head with an incredulous “Really?” he would so often blink a couple times, snap back to his senses, and utter (uncharacteristically meekly) “Actually, no.”---For Wordmage's "Sickfic Prompts" challenge on tumblr!





	The Wolf Cries True

**Author's Note:**

> I THOUGHT THIS ONE WAS GOING TO BE SHORT
> 
> WHY CANT I WRITE ANYTHING UNDER 4K
> 
> AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
> 
> \---
> 
> PROMPT: (character) has been known to exaggerate or even pretend they're sick, only this time they're telling the truth 
> 
> REQUESTED BY: Anon!

It didn’t take a rocket scientist to tell one that Harley was, in the kindest possible terminology, an absolute trash gremlin devoid of all honest virtues and lacking in any semblance of sincerity.

The Coordinator lied like it was going out of style, like it was a craft to hone. In a way, it was—he did so without a waver in his voice, without a single change in expression. If he had a heart, it wouldn’t have quickened at the thought. Harley lied like second nature, so much so that when Solidad would turn her head with an incredulous “Really?” he would so often blink a couple times, snap back to his senses, and utter (uncharacteristically meekly) “Actually, no.”

Illness was a common go-to—for a little while, at least. When Solidad called Harley up with Drew peering narrow-eyed over her shoulder, excitedly asking him if he was anywhere near Ecruteak, he had a feeling from the get-go it wasn’t going to be one of her more interesting proposals. To his credit, May’s name fell off her lips, something about seeing her off for the Wallace Cup in Sinnoh. The plan was to wish her well in the frigid region, then retreat to the pokémon center and take a well-earned contest break while they cheered her on from afar. 

Harley examined his nails as she dove into the details, eyes not on the video call.

“Can’t make it, sorry,” he said, matter-of-factly. “I’m, like,  _ super _ sick. Wouldn’t wanna infect any of my darling little contest fam with this nasty thing!”

“Like hell you are,” Drew huffed over her shoulder, and Harley raised acidic turquoise eyes up to look at the boy while Solidad continued.

“You look pretty good, all things considered.”

“What can I say, hon?” Harley ran his fingers through amethyst tresses, vogueing as he did so. “Hard to sully a face like this.”

“Harley, you and I both know if you had the opportunity to engage May in biological warfare you’d take it in an instant,” she challenged. 

“Sol! I’m offended!” he said. “I told you, the shorty and I are closer than ever! Why, I consider her my own kin.”

“Yeah, but like, you’d definitely push her into a pool if she was standing next to one.”

“Just like family,” Harley added, placing a hand over the empty hole where his heart would’ve been.

“Anyways, if you love her so much then come see her off with us,” Solidad said.

“I told you! I’m indisposed!” the man kept on, this time with a very exaggerated, very fake round of coughs. “There’s no way I can risk getting darling little May-May sick right before her big Sinnoh debut!”

“Yeah, you sound real bad, alright,” Drew rolled his eyes. “Surprised you were able to win that last contest  _ two days ago _ if you were  _ that  _ under the weather.”

“I know!” Harley said, throwing a hand over his brow for the drama. “It came on so fast! Oh, how the mighty have fallen—”

“Okay, Harley, well either way you told us you were a little ways away from Mt. Mortar,” Solidad said nonchalantly. “So we’re gonna come annoy you now! There’s your cue to start sprinting.”

He dropped his act a little, shooting her a look that was caught halfway between playful and antagonized.

“Later,” Solidad waved with a smirk, and the call ended.

He was going to stay put, of course. This was all just a tired routine, one he felt obligated to keeping, otherwise the balance of the world would shift below his feet and earth as they all knew it would come undone. 

Eventually, the excuse of being too ill to function got tired out—nevermind that Harley never did much to maintain it anyways. There was a moment where he found himself cursing that he’d run it into the ground, a solitary evening where, frantically thumbing through his list of excuses, he couldn’t find a single one that managed to exorcise him of his current predicament.

Solidad had begged and pleaded him to go to a Coordinators-only banquet with her. It sounded like such a dream when he’d agreed with stars in his eyes—fine wine, full moon, crystal chandeliers and a satin-decorated estate full of people just as beautiful as him. All you can eat meat-plates just whispering his name, sweetly seductive.

His impulsive nature had gotten the better of him, now, curled up in his room with the invitational pamphlet clutched tightly in his sweating palm. He should’ve asked to see it before he agreed. He should’ve told Solidad he’d consider it rather than just jumping straight in—but no—he’d locked himself into this, into a party that had all the makings of perfection, but with one small…  _ big _ problem.

Harley’s eyes zeroed in on the line of text again.

_ Formal dress required. _

It wasn’t that intimidating, upfront. It was the parentheticals after that chilled him to the bone—demanding men in suits, and women in dresses.

He pulled his pointed hat over his eyes, trembling in rage and panic. Surrounded by his pokémon, he was used to talking to open air in moments of extreme anger. This time, though, he had their company to soothe him.

“I can’t believe I was so blind!” Harley shrieked. “Of course there’s a catch! What am I gonna  _ do?! _ ”

Cacturne offered him a butterfly-kiss of a shoulder-pat, exceedingly gentle. It didn’t know what to tell him. It never did.

“Formal dress my  _ foot _ ,” he spat. “I’m stylish enough as is! Everything I don is the pinnacle of fashion-forward! If those blue-blooded no-lifes can’t see that through their stuffy mansion windows, that’s  _ their _ problem!”

_ I mean, it sounds like it’s your problem, _ Ariados thought, but wisely bit its tongue.

“Ugh, I’m not gonna be caught  _ dead _ in a tux,” Harley said. “No way, no how. Not even for Solidad. My pride as a queer icon is already at stake with how dangerously close I am to dating her.”

A knock came at the door, and Harley jolted with a yelp, having completely lost track of time. He could hear Solidad’s voice at the other end of it, asking him if he was ready. The man’s eyes darted across the room, desperately searching his pokémon for answers.

_ She won’t believe I had something else come up, she won’t believe the one about being blacklisted for indecent exposure at the last Coordinator party, she won’t believe I’m sick unless I can prove I am… _ he ran his hands through his hair, gritting his teeth and eyes shut tight.

All at once, it hit him. He loosed his vicegrip on his head, eyes upward and hat askew. 

_...unless I can prove I am… _

“Ariados,” he called to his pokémon, who turned to him, curious.

“Put those poison fangs of yours to use, darling!”

The long leg pokémon tilted its head, not sure what he was asking. He had his arm outstretched, sleeve pulled back so that the flesh was exposed. He couldn’t have been implying what Ariados  _ figured _ he was implying, right?

Solidad banged on the door harder, this time with some colourful language to nudge Harley forward. The man closed his eyes in anticipation of the pain, tilting his head downward. 

“Make it quick, hon!” he said through clenched teeth. “C’mon, do me this one solid and I’ll feed you all the pink pokéblock your heart desires!”

If it were able, Ariados would have surely sighed in exasperation at its trainers’ antics. He never failed to keep on surprising them.

Cacturne and Banette averted their eyes as the spider lunged forward and bit Harley—hard enough to inject a good amount of poison, soft-enough to make it non-lethal. Everyone was uncomfortable, except Wigglytuff, who was watching, unblinking, looking almost  _ excited _ .

Harley grit his teeth harder to avoid shrieking out in pain, and, to his pokémon’s surprise, managed to succeed. He let out a shaky breath, rolled his sleeve down over the bite, and pressed it hard against his swelling arm, hoping the blood spotting at the top wouldn’t show through. 

“I don’t think that worked,” he said, nonchalantly. “I feel fi—”

As he stood up, his head spun wildly, vision dizzied and feet tangling. As though he’d mixed way too many different kinds of alcohols and shotgunned them straight through the world’s largest funnel.

His stomach felt like it was somewhere in that hypothetical, too.

“Harley!” Solidad yelled. “Dude, c’mon, are you  _ still _ doing your makeup?”

With stumbling steps, he made his way to the door, hair a mess and face taking on an unnatural sort of pallor. His pokémon crept off to their own corners, trying to remain nonchalant but fine-tuned to every raw emotion Harley might have been feeling. Shakily, he unlocked it for Solidad, and her eyes widened when she saw him in the low light of the room, sweaty and trembling and with a telltale purple tint to his skin.

“Hey,” he said, attempting to wave casually but nearly falling over.

“Jesus, Harley,” she said, head in her hand. “What happened?”

“Came down with somethin’—” his stomach lurched as he slurred, and he weakly threw an arm over it in an attempt to shut it up. “—real bad.”

She took in the scene. He definitely looked sick, that much was certain—but not in any natural way. Eyeing him, she could see the veins around his eyes, coloured toxic and worse for wear.

“Dude,” she repeated. “Are you  _ poisoned _ right now?”

He didn’t have to lie about that much. He could run with this.

“Maybe I—wasn’t—” he suppressed another gag. “—entirely honest. I might have taken a toxic hit during appeal practice.”

“...for real?”

“Have you seeeeen Cacturne’s Poison Sting?” he garbled out. “It’s— _ ugh _ —impressive.”

Solidad eyed him again, unsure. The subtleties in the tone he used when he was lying were nigh undetectable, and Harley was definitely suffering from some sort of poisoning. Still, the timing was uncanny.

“...why do I feel like you’re up to something?”

“ _ I _ feel like I’m gonna fuckin’ barf!” he announced, almost cheerfully. “But here I am, graciously resisting the urge, because you’re a looker who doesn’t need puke on her nice shoes.”

“Guess we’re off for tonight, then,” she said, sighing. 

“Though it pains me to say it,” Harley affirmed. “Promise you’ll cause a little chaos in my absence?”

Solidad smiled reverently, and the sight of it along with the sentiment that followed almost made Harley feel— _ ugh _ —guilty for what he’d done.

“I’ll try my best to channel your spirit without getting kicked out for life,” she said, looking up at him. “You gonna be alright if I leave you here?”

“I’ll survive,” he swallowed bile. “Trust me, I’ve seen worse.”

With another quiet sigh, she bid him farewell, reluctant to face the crowds without someone to fall back on, without her partner in crime beside her to point out and critique everyone’s formalwear. She couldn’t shake the idea that he wasn’t being entirely honest, but he looked worse for wear and probably wasn’t in the mood to argue while cold toxins seared through his veins.

Harley shut the door, back to it, and slid to the floor in a pathetic slump, groaning unattractively to the darkened room. His pokémon stirred a little, quietly drawing to his side.

“Wigglytuff, darling,” he said weakly. “Did I teach you Heal Bell, or was that a dream?”

“Wiggly~tuff,” it chirped at him, and he sighed.

“Thought so,” Harley said. “Cacturne, take my wallet, buy me an antidote, make sure you’re back before ten or I might be dead.”

The scarecrow rolled shining eyes, pulling the green-diamond leather from Harley’s trembling hand. Some days, its trainer was the only person walking the earth who made sense to it. Most, however, Cacturne was reminded that the two of them, despite appearances, were a completely different species.

 

 

When Harley was actually sick, it was an ordeal at _ best _ .

He would come down with a head cold that barely impaired him at all and collapse with a hand over his brow on Solidad’s couch, whining pitifully about how he’d finally met his end. One tiny sniffle and the Coordinator would unravel completely, bemoaning whatever deity had assigned him such a cruel fate, ludicrously announcing that he was a good person who did not deserve karmic retribution at the hands of a knick in otherwise perfect health.

“Would a merciful god have  _ allowed _ this?!” he would cry to the heavens, trailing it off in pitiful coughs that were more a product of the drama than any illness.

“Hey Harley, look,” Solidad would say, ignoring him and shoving her PokéNav in his face. “Drew posted this cute video of Absol trying to steal drinks while he waters Roserade.”

“Sol, can’t you have some sympathy for me ON MY DEATHBED?!”

“I mean, I would if you were.”

And Harley would sigh dramatically, and allow himself another miserable sniffle, and draw his blanket higher over his eyes.

“You’re gonna eat those words some day, hon.”

 

So, naturally, when Solidad was standing in her hotel bathroom in one of her finest dresses, ripe for a luxurious evening out at a five-star restaurant with Harley, she rolled her eyes a little when she received the text.

_ Can’t come, _ it said, simply.  _ Sick. _

She ran a hand through her bangs, undoing the concoction of mousse and hairspray she’d so carefully crafted only moments before. An exasperated sigh left her lips, and she tried to keep her composure.

Harley was a hard person to be friends with. At least, that’s what  _ other  _ people had told her. They generally used far more colourful language to express it, and Solidad never really found herself identifying with what they said. He had traits that were grating at best and horrible at worst, but she found they were easy to ignore when need be, and even more fun to play with. For every terrible idea he had that Drew and May shot down, there was always a nervous glance the kids would shoot Solidad, knowing that of everyone, she was the most likely to ‘yes, and—’ him.

Harley was a mess. But his chaos enriched her life in a way no other person could, and despite everything, she found him undeniably easier to love than hate.

For the first time since meeting him, she was  _ incensed _ . Angry, even. Not only had he used a tired excuse that she was getting bored of, he hadn’t even thought her worth it to give her a call and put on his typical show. She was only deserving of a  _ text message _ to him. 

There was a dark part of Solidad she desperately wanted to shut up, and it was quietly nudging her forward to reconsider what she was to Harley. The thought was ludicrous—they’d been friends for a decade, she’d known all his demons, seen him grow from a teary-eyed boy to an incredible Coordinator that demanded the eyes of every single person in the room. Still, a tiny voice in her head persisted, telling her that in all the change she’d seen in him, maybe his friendship with her had changed, too.

She wanted to roll her eyes at it, knowing it was just that—an errant thought, like any other, that she’d somehow been conditioned to feel. Still, she wasn’t the kind of person who dealt well with sitting around and waiting for her problems to work themselves out.

So, naturally, Solidad marched across the stadium grounds to Harley’s hotel, took the elevator right up to his room, and pounded on the door with a little more unhinged force than she might have initially intended. It wasn’t until she heard the sound of her own fervent knocking echoing through the halls that she took a step back and realized precisely how angry she really was—tension in her shoulders and tightness in her jaw, throat quivering a little with frustration.

There was a long silence. Solidad found herself knocking on a late or otherwise absent Harley’s door enough that she was used to a certain routine—half-stifled curses, crashing noises, the otherworldly whoosh of pokémon going back into their capsules. The silence didn’t do much for her mood—there was no other explanation, in its wake. He wasn’t even  _ here _ , probably blew her off for some attractive stranger who offered to get him so drunk he wouldn’t remember his name and now they were off in a dark alley somewhere, he  _ always _ did this—

The hotel door clicked open, pulling her out of her racing thoughts. Harley stood there—a generous word to use—leaning on the door frame unsteadily. The room behind him was pitch black, save only for the stadium and city lights that twinkled outside in the dead of night. Behind him, in the shadows, Cacturne was poised nervously with its eyes aglow in the darkness, as though it had tried to stop its trainer from answering.

Harley himself was deathly pale, the only colour on his face an angry red tint that lined his cheeks. Hair a jungle and breath a rasp and seaglass eyes glazed over, his voice wasn’t much better-sounding when he finally spoke.

“Nn…” he blinked a little, trying to register the sight. “Who’s…?”

“Oh,” Solidad said, her wrath dissipating in seconds. “Well, you don’t look great.”

“S-Sol…?” Harley responded simply, peering into her with eyes narrowed and headache intensified as he tried to focus. “That you?”

Okay, he was so far gone he couldn’t even make heads or tails of who she was. That wasn’t good. Like clockwork, she pressed the back of her hand to his cheek, and he shuddered involuntarily at the sudden chill on his skin. 

He was blazing. More than any human being should have been. Worry tangled around her heart like ugly vines, what did he do to get himself  _ this _ sick? And so suddenly, too? The Grand Festival had only ended yesterday, and he was in it down to the finish, looking lively as ever.

“Aw, man...” she sighed, exhaling anxiety. “You… you were serious, weren’t you?”

More aware of his surroundings now, he nodded a little meekly, like a child who had been caught doing something they shouldn’t. She took her palm from his face, almost reluctantly. Noticing his pokémon watching and probably a million times more coherent despite the language barrier, she turned to address it.

“Cacturne, has he been like this all day?”

The scarecrow gave a low utterance of its name, nodding. It gestured to something she couldn’t entirely register in the darkness, and Solidad willed her eyes to focus in on it. There was a crumpled heap of Harley’s nicer clothes thrown haphazardly on the floor, an afterthought, but a thought nonetheless. An impulse registered, and she brought her gaze down to the hand she’d used to check his temperature. Looking at her knuckles, now, she could see the telltale shine of his near-iridescent highlighter lingering from where she’d made contact. 

He’d been sick all day. He’d been sick all day, but he’d still done his makeup, tried to doll himself up, picked out a whole separate outfit. He fully intended on going to dinner with her, even though he looked—and probably felt—like absolute death.

A million opportunities across years to get angry at Harley’s bullshit, and Solidad found herself choosing the singular time when he’d genuinely done no wrong. She sighed again, looking up at him, only a little taller with his platform heels off.

“Shit, Harley,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry…” he echoed, eyes barely open. “I’m—sorry—”

“Shh,” Solidad stopped him, pushing some of his wild hair out of his face. “Stay put. I’m gonna come back, okay?”

He didn’t seem to understand where or who he was, let alone what she was saying. She shot another look to Cacturne, who was idling with golden eyes off to the side, trying not to intrude on their moment but roots planted firmly in some sort of maternal obligation to its trainer.

“Cacturne,” she caught its attention, and it turned to her with a sheepish ‘ _ cac? _ ’

“Get him back to bed,” she instructed. “I’m gonna grab some stuff. I’ll be quick. 

“Cac~turne,” it affirmed, holding out sturdy arms to guide its trainer, gingerly pulling at the blanket clasped tightly around him. The pokémon cast a lingering glance over its shoulder as it brought him back to the unmade bed, and Solidad returned it with a warm smile to set its heart at ease before quietly shutting the door.

* * *

“You gotta sit up. C’mon, Harls. Just for a second.”

Groaning miserably, Harley shakily pulled himself upward, resting against the polished headboard of the hotel bed for support. A little more lucid despite the weakness lining his form, he managed to take the glass of water she was holding in a trembling hand, not stopping when he’d gotten the pill down and electing to chug the whole thing in a primal, involuntary manner. Soon as he finished, he collapsed back into the cocoon of blankets he had crafted himself, ever the drama queen but more than allowed, for just this once.

They were alone in the room now, with Cacturne on the hotel balcony basking in the quiet moonlight, allowing them their privacy despite the worry in its heart. Banette had since joined it, the nocturnal pair sharing close quarters as they so often did, so that the night felt less lonely. Under the blankets, Harley suppressed another shiver when Solidad rang out the washcloth and pressed it back to his forehead.

She dutifully moved the back of her hand to his cheek again, gentle as could be as she assessed him. He still wasn’t speaking much, which was weird and unsettling given who he was, but at the very least it felt as though his fever had gone down some. Her heart dropped a little in relief when the fact hit her.

Still, the silence was maddening. Even if it was just her talking to him as he lay there barely conscious… she could use the noise.

“Man, lucky for you this hit after the festival,” she said out loud. “The whole region mighta watched you pass out mid-appeals if it hadn’t.”

To her surprise, he smiled through closed eyes. He was conscious after all, it seemed.

“Woulda been one helluva tabloid,” Solidad continued. “Why’s it always us? Even in hypotheticals. You never see, like, Sinnoh coordinators making garbage mag covers.”

“Less for the nobodies writing those articles to be jealous of,” Harley croaked, and Solidad almost jumped a little at the sound of his voice. She wasn’t expecting him back so soon, even if he sounded like a shadow of the person she knew in the wake of everything.

“Hey, hey,” she said. “Don’t push yourself. You don’t have to try to be charming right now. Just focus on recovering.”

“Not trying,” he mumbled. “Just am.”

Solidad rolled her eyes. She could see him beneath ragged breaths and flushed cheeks. It was comforting.

A silence followed, and she couldn’t help but bring her eyes to the city lights swimming outside, the way Cacturne’s silhouette cut a dark hole into them, pitch green and statuesque. Banette must’ve told it something funny, because Solidad watched as it quietly stifled laughter into needled palms. When she finally looked back to Harley, he had turned to his side a little, muffling a weak cough into one of the blankets situated atop him.

Solidad reached over to gingerly rub his back as more came, wishing to everything she knew that she was capable of being a better caretaker. Despite appearances, she was really only a ‘mom friend’ in theory. When it really came down to it, there was only so much she knew to do, the dutiful care in her heart so often blanketed by the worry of overstepping.

Lost in her thoughts and running scenarios in her head, she almost didn’t hear when Harley’s fit petered out, and he feebly attempted to speak once more.

“Sol?” he said, voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah?”

“Are you mad at me?”

The question cut her, though she couldn’t say why. He sounded more heartbroken than she’d ever heard, weak and feverish and not at all himself. 

...or maybe, more himself than he was normally.

“What?” she said, without thinking. “Harley, c’mon.”

“I ruined tonight,” he said, burying his face deeper into blankets, knocking the rag from his forehead. “I ruined it, didn’t I?”

“I doubt you  _ wanted _ to get sick,” Solidad assured him.

“You looked so mad,” he said, almost  _ tearful _ . 

She sighed, trying for a different angle. “I was mad. But only ‘cause you’re so prone to using this excuse that I thought you were bullshitting. In a way, it’s good I was. If I hadn’t shown up to rat you out, who knows what woulda happened to you?”

He coughed again, eyes opening to half-moons to look at her. “Cacturne and I woulda gone this alone, I guess.”

Solidad considered the loneliness with which he said it. It was almost nostalgic, and the lilt to it wasn’t something she understood. 

“...would you have preferred that?”

Harley thought for only a moment before drawing his covers up over his nose. 

“No.”

“...then I’ll stay.”

He sunk farther into his blankets at the softness and generosity that hung off Solidad’s every word. If there was one thing this god-awful fever was good for, it was effectively camouflaging the nervous blush that was definitely creeping up on his cheeks. He’d decided long ago that to be close to anyone save for his own pokémon wasn’t worth it. It complicated things to the highest degree, left him in a position of constantly explaining why he acted and thought and felt the things he did and the way he was. To go it alone meant that no one was there to question you, and the strangers who did could be easily ignored.

Harley hadn’t anticipated the appearance of a person who wasn’t intent on changing him. To his flaws she remained apathetic, ever-comforting to be around. Somehow, without lifting a finger, he realized she might have made him softer anyways.

Whether people complicated Harley’s life or not, he was sure of one thing—Solidad being here, with cool hands at his burning face and chipped nails brushing tangles of hair from his eyes, made him feel far better than any pill he might’ve had to swallow alone.

“Thanks, Sol,” he whispered to the darkness, and her heart leapt a little at the rarity of the statement. She tucked another aubergine curl behind his ear.

“What are friends for?”

 

Solidad was an exception to his life in more ways than Harley could count. One more certainly didn’t hurt.


End file.
